


Save The Blooming For Me, Please

by uh_oh_im_seeing_voices



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Boys In Love, Eventual Fluff, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uh_oh_im_seeing_voices/pseuds/uh_oh_im_seeing_voices
Summary: This wasn't supposed to happen. Takahiro wasn't supposed to be on the floor with blood on his lips and a flower in his hands.





	Save The Blooming For Me, Please

Too pretty. 

He’s too pretty to bleed.

Even when the merciless purple of bruised lips stained his skin, when tears left rivers in their wake down his cheeks, and when nothing, seemingly, had courageous enough heart to stop the wretched sobs. Flowers, bloody in his hands, contrasted his skin with red and white. A gardenia in his hands, and a petal on his lips. The sun against the flower and against his skin made him, in all his glory and in all his magnificence, shine. How could one boy best even the most golden of things at a time like this? The sun shone on him and him alone. Oh! How did this boy demand the sun even when he would cry; even when he would bleed. Oh, did he bleed. 

Too pretty, I thought again, this time completely understanding that my description was perhaps, and absolutely so, the biggest understatement I could muster.

The stains on his hands from those unrequited feelings he’d been cursed with. Who could not love this boy? Even now his eyes shone; a pity they shone with tears. A pity they shone not with the sun, as his skin did. Who couldn’t love him? He sat with his knees tucked under his chin and his hands out in front of him, holding the flower. What could any human who had brains enough to see beauty, to see the most precious of things, think of when they looked at him with anything but love? This, now, was the rawest moment I could ever hope to see. It was also the most heartbreaking, for whoever he loved, it was not me. If it were me, the flowers would not exist. 

He looked up at me. Then away. I too wanted to cry. 

I did not.

“Look at me, Takahiro. I need you to look at me.”

As I sank to the floor beside him, I noticed how terribly his hands shook. The situation certainly was not one to be thrilled about. He shook his head, refusing to look at me. I wanted to nudge him, to persuade him to do anything but fiddle with the flower in his hands, but I couldn't bring myself to it. The only thing I could do was call his name and sit there. Hideous coughs racked his body, spilling more petals and blood. Vibrant, disgusting, red violated all that was pure about this boy. He was supposed to shine. Oh, how the sun shone against him. Oh, how I wanted him to not bleed. The dull thrum in my chest got bigger the longer I looked at him and the blood on his lips, in his hands - a blossom of pain erupted at the sight of him on his knees in front of me, holding his hands out in wait to catch any stray thing, like blood, my hand, more petals, that might dare fall into them. This was never supposed to happen. I was supposed to be there for him, be the only one he needed - anything and everything he could hold close to him so as long as he desired, that was supposed to be my role to fulfill, my role to be attentive to, my role to treasure. I was supposed to love him as none others did. That, apparently, still stands true. That flower. How fitting that a gardenia had to be his. I regret knowing what it means. I placed my hand on his arm, and he sat there, pretty, still not meeting my eyes. I caved.

“Who is it?”

I whispered this to him as softly as I could. An unspoken "I’m your best friend, you can tell me" died on my lips. Unbeknownst to him, it was better it went unspoken on my end. As long as the sun shone, and the flowers existed, I could never bear to hear them out loud. How could this boy ruin me so deeply? I wish for him to finally, finally, look at me. 

He does. I want to cry.

I do not.

I hold his hands, caring not for filth. He could hold no filth if the Earth and all her lifeforms depended on it. The sun dimmed its light, cowering behind gray clouds, casting absent shadows on the bed behind us. How fitting the sun hides its rays now as a tear rolls down his cheek in sync with the room’s darkness. The pain a chest feels when someone loved does not feel so, no, when someone loves too much. Thoughtless screams slow to a crawl in my mind, stopped by only the pungent, heavy, silence. Something, anything, I beg. I want to beg. Sun rays disappear. His eyes close, an exhale sounds, and a pen would dare not be dropped. To love a boy. To watch a boy with a broken heart sit so very close to your own broken heart. 

“They’ve been here since May.”

Words. Clear, spoken words. Bloody lips entranced me so very softly. Oh! How entrancing he was. The concupiscent stench of blood filled my nostrils, stretching itself around my mind and making it foggy. May. May I love you? May I replace this brokenness? What happened in May? Nothing stood out except the beginning of a school year; the beginning of his suffering as well. Moving to university had been rough for the both of us, but I had no idea that these seven months he had been suffering so much more than I thought. Seven months. Seven entire months of suffering, and seven months of me not knowing what he was going through. How could this be? He hid it so well. Too pretty to hide the pain. Too pretty to be in pain. Too pretty to bleed. 

Too pretty to bleed.

At least the coughing has stopped. 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

I held tighter to his hands, keeping them safe as he tried to tug them away. They were safe with me. He was supposed to be safe with me. I was supposed to be safe with him. There aren’t supposed to be flowers blooming in his lungs either, but the world persists and insists on throwing every piece of shit at you that she can and holding you accountable for all that goes wrong in your life. Now, when nothing seemed right, all I could do was hold his hands. Flowers and blood be damned. This boy caused the sun and all the planets to revolve around him, and I got caught in the gravity. I got caught in his gravity, and my heart swells with every revolution of myself around him. He bested the sky, that infinite being, and all its inhabitants. He ducked his head. 

“You.” 

It was barely audible, that response. Nothing more than a whisper pierced the room. 

“What?”

I didn’t hear properly; couldn’t have.

“I said,”

He inhaled. A pause.

“It’s you. The flowers are yours. Please, don’t make this worse for me than it already is. Please leave.”

That isn’t right. They wouldn't exist if it were me. I love him. Why would I leave?

“There is no way on earth that I would leave right now. How.. how could they be mine?”

If the sun were to shine now, it would shine solely on him. The sun has never shone so brightly on anyone, and it likely never will. Intertwined so deeply in the light was he, that I, even now, have trouble keeping up with his grand life. It is by all conventional means not grand in the slightest, but this boy has such power that the color gold cannot hold even the smallest of candles to him. 

Why now? Why now was this discovered? Why was the sun and the world and all that revolved around him throwing me out of the gravitational pull? Could I not stand to love him in a way that means I get to stay by his side? Alas, the world gave this boy flowers before I could. It would’ve been a lovely, magnificent, bouquet I brought, fitting only for a boy of this grandeur. No blood involved. Not like now. His flowers were bloody, and they should not have been. The blood on his lips was drying. The bloodstained hands were still wrapped in my own. It didn't matter. They were my flowers.

Oh, how stupid we both are.

He opens his mouth to respond, but I shake my head. He falls silent. A pen dared not drop. A wild, swirling, devil of a noise crossed my ears, canceling everything out and leaving only a bitter, distasteful white static in its wake. This was the silence of the broken-hearted. This was the silence of one who is not loved. This was the silence of confusion and longing. The kind you could cut with a knife, and the kind you demanded answers from. I have my answers. I’ve had them for as long as the sun has allowed me to. Safe from the world, we have both hidden in the shadows cast by our respective suns. Flowers need the sun to grow, didn’t you know? The one who shines brightest, who is loved by the light, would only be a natural host. Too pretty to be loved. 

Still too pretty to bleed.

Moments like this, you wish were engraved; set in stone and written in textbooks. A momentous happening, so beautiful, so wanted, that the first press of lips held no fireworks like one would read in stories and hear about from first-hand accounts or fictitious tell-tales spouting love letters to anyone that would listen. This first press of lips was a short, sad one, filled with longing and regret; a longing for understanding, and the regret of being so inconceivably stupid. He pulled away, taking my breath with him. The boy who blooms in the sun. The boy scared of me. Scared of a kiss, for that kiss only carried more confusion, surely.

“How could they possibly be mine, when I love you so much…”

I stood up, pulling him to his feet along with me. I always have been taller than him, and the difference pulls at heartstrings - a primordial sense to protect those smaller than you - which, for the longest time, and for an abundance of reasons, have been reserved for him and him alone. I allow my hands to drop out of his, and I move them to his face only to have him flinch away. Pause. I move my hands slower and cup his cheeks as gently as I could. Allow me to do this, I think. So goes the body goes the mind, someone famous once said. With his body, with his flowers blooming and destroying so much of his lungs and heart that so went his mind to create an image of me doing something as blasphemous as not love him, I want to tell him that everything will be okay, that I do love him, and that I could prove it to him forever.

“Wh..”

He stumbled over his words, not finishing his why.

“Hiro I have loved you since high school. There is no way that you should be suffering like this right now. I have loved you for so long, and I’m so sorry that I was too scared to ever mention it to you. I.. I’m sorry.”

It’s my turn to duck my head, my hands still resting on his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry for kissing you like that, but I need to you to know that it’s not one sided like you think. I don’t know why this happened, but you’re coughing up fucking flowers, which isn’t good, and I need you to know that I love you too.”

He continues to cry. His hands drop to his sides, letting petals fall to the floor, weighted more heavily with the red staining them. I almost wish that they had floated gently down instead. That wasn’t important now. Details don’t matter as much in the face of this crying boy who doesn’t look like he believes me.

“How weird is it that Hanahaki sounds like Hanamaki?”

Humor usually was the best way that he dealt with his problems, and my words seemed to bring out those ways to cope. One second he was stone-faced with beautiful eyes shining with tears only, and the next he had broken out into a soft sort of giggle, hand coming up to cover his laugh. He always was prettier when happy.

“Shut up Issei this is a serious situation.”

He said that, and I knew his tone was lighter than before. Thank god. I couldn’t help but smile at the lofty way he batted my hands off his face, wiping his tears away, only to drag a minute amount of scarlet along his cheekbones. 

“I know it is, that’s why it’s better I have you laughing. Everything's better when you’re happy, y’know.”

He gave a small smile and nod, looking me in the eyes finally.

“I’m sorry about this too. I didn’t expect you to be back so early, and I didn’t bother going to the bathroom just to cough. I didn’t know I would bleed, and I didn’t know you’d catch me.”

“I’m glad I came home early, and I’m glad I caught you. God, I’m so fucking glad. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t just found out, and you ended up in the hospital later because you kept hiding it.”

At this point, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and brought him closer to me. I needed to feel that he was there. The flowers at my feet and the scarlet on his cheekbones made my chest ache so much with the thought of this escalating. This boy who made planets turn and the sun shine. This boy cast light into everything he did just by existing in the very realm that he did, and the shine shone again on the room as we stood there, his arms slowly surrounding me as well in a sad, comforting, way to show that he - no, both of us - were going to get better. 

“I love you Issei.”

He choked out the words. I could hear the tears threatening to prick his eyes again, and I quickly shushed him.

“I love you too. Please don’t cry. Everything is okay now. We’re okay.”

I put my hand on the back of his head and kiss his hair softly. The world, surrounded and living by all her lifeforms, stopped for us in that moment. Right now, I knew, was a grand turning point that would leave those in our life wondering how things came to be. 

As we stood there, I finally let myself cry.

-

“Fuck you, you goddamn thief!” I yelled at Issei as he ran away with my phone charger, laughing. 

“Love you!” He called back to me in a singsong voice. 

Okay I knew that was bullshit because he wouldn’t have taken my charger otherwise. Thirty percent and he insists on doing this to me. He could’ve taken my breakfast, but no. Honestly, over the years you would’ve thought his jokes and “pranks” would get better. As long as I stayed in my seat, he could come and hand me it back, claiming that it would’ve been more fun if I played into his hands and chased him to get it. It wasn’t worth the exercise though. I just shook my head and went back to eating when he came back into the kitchen pouting and calling me a jerk for choosing food over him and my charger. I held out my hand, and he dropped the cord and box into it.

What a predictable husband.

**Author's Note:**

> This took me much too long to write. Its not my first time writing, but its my first fic oof
> 
> dialogue? Dialogue?? are you there????????? no? okay.......


End file.
